


She

by lesbiancordy



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Eve Blanchard defense squad, Gen, I might be the only member of that squad but who cares, Introspection, Other characters discussed but technically not in this so I won't tag them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:27:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24971548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbiancordy/pseuds/lesbiancordy
Summary: It seemed like some sort of cruel irony, how she would be the dead sister now, and Sophie would be the one left behind wondering what had happened to her.-A look inside of Eve's mind during her last moments.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 9





	She

She got to see Sophie again.   
That was the thought that she desperately clung to as the last breath left her lungs.   
She may have only gotten one day with her, but it was more than she ever thought she would get. 

She had told her about absolutely everything; her lonely childhood, her angsty adolescence, her surprisingly enjoyable time in law school–she had only really started to flourish in her twenties, when she had unfortunately gotten used to the constant weight of missing Sophie so desperately.

She told her about every boyfriend. Every girlfriend. The excitement of the beginnings, and the despair of the inevitable endings. She had always known that no relationship she had, romantic or otherwise, would be permanent. Nothing was permanent; she had learnt that at very young age. 

She told her how she never went more than a minute without thinking about her–where she was, what she was doing, who she was with–and eventually, where her body was. The logistics of that last one became worse and worse each time she pondered them, because despite the endless tragedy that she can't seem to escape, she needed to know. She always needed to know. Not knowing was infinitely worse; her imagination could conjure up images that reality vastly paled against. 

Another thing she and Malcolm had in common, she supposed. 

She told her all about Malcolm; the heart she never meant to break, but did anyway. Sophie told her in return about the scared little boy that she remembers opening the trunk she was in, and Eve secretly thought that that scared little boy never really went away; he's hiding in the depths of those perceptive blue eyes–she even thought she had seen him, a few times. When Malcolm let his guard down, when he started to feel safe around her–and she had never felt more dispicable than in those moments. But she had always held firm that hating herself was worth it, if she'd found Sophie. It had to be. 

She told her about the first time she met him, how she was instantly charmed by his eccentricities, his honesty. Despite suspecting, despite _knowing_ , that his father had taken away half of her heart. At the time she had been convinced that Martin had killed her, but even knowing the truth, the statement still stands. He took away her heart, one way or another. She never held that against Malcolm, but she'd be lying if she said she didn't use it to justify her own dishonesty, her own moral shortcomings in their relationship. 

She told her about Jessica; the woman she had an instant admiration for, the woman who was so determined to never be defined by the men in her life–in another life, a better life, she would be Eve's role model. Maybe they could have changed the world together. She could imagine boozy brunches with her, helping her further her charity work even more–something they both needed to do to feel even the littlest bit okay with themselves. 

She could even imagine family dinners with them, could imagine loving Malcolm so much that she could maybe, one day, let her obsession go.   
Let Sophie go.   
She always knew that that was a pipe dream. 

But it had turned out she didn't need to; Sophie was alive. Sophie was happy.   
So Eve too was happy, _finally_. 

And when she thought that maybe there was someone following her as she was coming back from the local library and it's superior internet connection, she wrapped her arms around herself tightly, as if that small gesture would help her, and walked faster.   
Back to Sophie.   
Back to the sister who she had finally found, her sister who was alive. 

She never made it back to her. 

It seemed like some sort of cruel irony, how _she_ would be the dead sister now, and Sophie would be the one left behind wondering what had happened to her.   
She just hoped Sophie would remember her as the person she was, and not whatever they find of her afterwards, when she can no longer cling to her last spark of life.   
She hoped she remembered her as the other half of her heart, the way she had remembered Sophie for the past 20 years. 

And as she was grabbed and marched towards what she knows is her end, her regrets and her fears and her shame mercifully fade to the back of her mind.   
Because the ever present misery and loneliness that had been with her since the moment she lost her sister wasn't there anymore. She was finally unburdened.

She knows it's not fair; she wanted more time.   
She wanted to get to know the person she's searched for for so long. Wanted to learn her idiosyncrasies and see what's changed, and what's stayed the same. She wanted to watch the old VHS tape full of 90s Scooby-Doo movies, like they used to when she was a kid–the tape she still had to that day. 

She wanted to introduce her to Malcolm. She thinks they would like each other.   
She wanted to tell Malcolm that it's okay, that it's not his fault, that it's never _been_ his fault–that the girl that's haunted them both their entire adult lives isn't a ghost–she's alive and happy and thriving, more so than either of them would ever allow themselves to.   
She wanted to say she's sorry for leaving him the way she did, for hurting him, for making his life even harder than it had already been. That if she _had_ stayed, it would have only gotten worse anyway.   
She wanted to tell him that no one is broken, not even him, not even her. That there's always hope to find, even if it's just a miniscule amount. 

Water was filling her lungs, and as her feeble struggling became weaker and weaker, she knew with a terrifying clarity that there's no way out, no last minute rescue, no white knight coming to save her–not even her sister. 

She wanted to say a lot of things, to a lot of people.   
She doesn't get the chance.   
But at least she got to see Sophie again.   
With that final thought echoing through her mind, she lets go, and Eve Blanchard ends, tragically and needlessly and alone. 

**Author's Note:**

> I find Eve a very sympathetic character, so I wanted to show her some love, despite how tragically her story ends.  
> Ya'll ever just drink wine and think about death alone in your room at 2am? That was my mindset when writing this.  
> Drop a kudos and/or comment if you liked!  
> I titled this 'She' because I use that word too much in this fic, so I figured I'd lean into it.


End file.
